


I'm still here

by scriobh



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 22:25:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1795363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scriobh/pseuds/scriobh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Bellamy was the one who had been with Clarke when she was taken by the Grounders?</p><p>A slight alternative to 1.11 if Bellamy went with Clarke instead of Finn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm still here

They had all split off into groups to go hunting, someone in each group taking a gun for protection against the Grounders but also a spear for killing the animals. Until Jasper and Raven were able to work out a way to make more bullets, they had to conserve their ammunition for the eventual fight that they would have to endure.

Clarke was in the drop ship, checking her supplies of medicinal herbs to see which she should keep her eye out for most while outside the walls. There, a younger boy who she had never really spoken to came up to her, reminding her that his name was Myles before asking to be her hunting partner in an overly eager manner. She had agreed, already feeling protective of him as she did all of the others under her care. She secured the ties of her bag and threw it over her shoulder, turning to the drop ship’s door and coming face to face with Bellamy as he entered, lifting the curtain aside. He caught her gaze and opened his mouth to speak, but Finn unknowingly cut him off from the side.

“You ready to go?” he asked, walking up to her side.

She raised an eyebrow, smiling lightly. “I don’t think so.”

His eyebrows drew together. “Come on, I’m a good tracker.” He argued. “You’re lousy with a spear, but you’re sneaky. We make a good team.” He finished, appearing confused as to why she turned him down.

Before Clarke could respond, Myles came up to them. “Hey, partner. We’re wasting daylight. Oh—Finn, you joining the band?”

“Sure—”

“No.” Clarke shook her head, lifting a spear away from where the rest were grouped. “We’ve got a good team already, right? You, me, and Bellamy,” she looked back to where the elder was waiting, and he nodded.

“Oh, okay,” Myles said brightly. “Sounds good. I guess I’ll just give the gun to someone else if he’ll be bringing ours.” With that, he left the drop ship, calling out someone’s name.

Bellamy approached them as Finn began to speak in a low voice. “You don’t seriously think he’ll take care of you out there, do you? He doesn’t care about anyone but himself.”

“I trust him.” Clarke said firmly, ending the argument as Bellamy stood beside her.

“Ready to go, princess?”

Finn answered as Clarke opened her mouth. “I think I should go with you guys. I’m good at tracking—”

“We’re fine, Finn. Let’s go, Bellamy.” Clarke ordered, shifting her grip on the spear and starting out the door, followed closely by the elder. They met up with Myles, who now nervously wielded a spear, and went to the entrance to camp.

“Everyone’s back by sundown, understand?” Bellamy called, receiving scattered responses before they led the hunting party out of camp.

They spent the better part of the day trekking through the forest, the only animal they came across promptly getting scared away by Myles’ too enthusiastic approach. It had not all been for nothing though, because Clarke had at least found several herbs that she had gone out to look for that would be extremely useful in healing the group’s injuries.

After Myles got too antsy and ended up panic-throwing his spear into a nearby bush, Bellamy said that they should head back, as it was getting dark anyway. Myles started to ramble on about the different animals and their meat, and Clarke and Bellamy exchanged raised eyebrows and rolled eyes as they carried on, keeping an eye out as they continued back.

Bellamy stopped after a few more minutes. “Clarke, over here,” he beckoned, and she crouched down beside him.

“Myles, be quiet for a second.” She looked to Bellamy. “What is it?”

He shook his head slowly, eyebrows drawn together. “These tracks…” he trailed off.

“They’re perfect,” Clarke finished quietly, realizing the same thing that he was.

“Too perfect,” he looked out into the trees around them. “We’re the ones being hunted.”

Myles jumped to his feet, holding up his weapon. “I don’t see anything—”

He was silenced as arrows flew out from the brush, striking him in the leg and then the chest. The boy let out a cry of pain as he dropped back to the ground.

“Myles!” Clarke cried, desperate to help him.

Bellamy glanced around the forest, seeing movement in multiple places. They were severely outnumbered. He grabbed her arm. “Clarke, come on. We’ve gotta leave him.” He said regretfully.

She nodded, sparing a glance at Myles before turning and running after Bellamy until one of the Grounders leapt out and hit her over the head. She let out a cry of pain as she fell to the ground.

“Clarke!” Bellamy immediately trained his gun on the Grounder and put a bullet in him. The man was unable to rise again, pressing a hand to the wound in his abdomen as Bellamy heaved the blonde back to her feet. “Run.” He instructed, pushing her forward and guarding her from behind. Another Grounder jumped out, but Bellamy shot him twice before he could touch her. She stumbled ahead of him, reeling from the blow to her head, but he caught her arm and kept her up, urging her onward.

“Bellamy—”

The rustling grew louder, and then several Grounders emerged from the foliage all at once. Bellamy used his last two bullets on two of them but only one went down, the other merely hit in the arm.

“Get behind me.” Bellamy ordered Clarke, noticing with dismay that she had lost her weapon back beside Myles. He drew out his dagger, not having enough time to reload with his only remaining clip while the Grounders closed in on them.

“Bellamy,” Clarke’s panicked tone struck him as she too realized that she was helpless, and he reached an arm around to protect her.

“We’re not here to kill you.” A voice called from the trees, and Anya slowly walked into view. “But if you continue to resist, I promise that we will inflict all manners of pain on you both.”

Clarke absently lifted her trembling hand to fist in Bellamy’s jacket, holding him back. “Bellamy, there are too many of them. We can’t fight them.” She murmured brokenly.

Anya smirked. “Smart girl.”

“Clarke—”

“We lost, Bellamy.” She said quietly, letting go of him.

Anya nodded toward them, and the Grounders advanced on the two. Bellamy adjusted his grip on the knife and slashed at the first person who came near them, but he got locked in a fight with the next two and Clarke was knocked out behind him, unable to defend herself for long with just her hands. After the Grounders managed to land several painful blows on his body, Bellamy fell to his knees, and a final hit to his head sent him unconscious too.

\---

Clarke came to in what appeared to be a decrepit wooden shack with her wrists bound in front of her and a guard visible just outside the doorway. She quickly took inventory of her injuries, finding only superficial bruises aside from a throbbing pain in her head. She then sat up and looked around her, immediately searching for an alternate way out. Instead of an exit, she found Bellamy lying a few feet away.

“Bellamy,” the word fell from her lips before she could stop herself, and she quickly went to his side, trying to be quiet so as not to attract the attention of the guard. Her hands fluttered uselessly over him, taking in the blood that poured down his face from the wound on the side of his head and thinking that he almost certainly would have a concussion. “Bellamy, wake up,” she whispered, squeezing his shoulder carefully. She glanced back at the guard just as he looked at her. She froze as their gazes met and he got to his feet, but he then walked away purposefully. ‘ _Probably to get someone else_ ,’ Clarke thought. If they were going to have any chance of escaping, it would have to be in the next few seconds. “Bellamy,” she said more forcefully, shaking his arm. “You need to wake up _right now_.”

He groaned quietly, forcing his eyes open blearily. “Clar—?”

“Come on, you have to get up. We need to get out of here now.” She took his arm and helped to pull him to his feet, though he was unsteady once he got up. Clarke then peeked out around the corner. Seeing the area temporarily empty, she pulled Bellamy along with her outside the small building and out into the forest. She broke into a run, not sure which direction they were heading but knowing that death was imminent if they stayed.

Her heart fell when she heard heavy footsteps following after them. She turned around, about to tell Bellamy to hide in the undergrowth when she saw that a Grounder had him and was holding a knife up to his neck. Her words died on her tongue and she was still.

“Come back or I kill him.” he said.

“Clarke, go—”

She shook her head. “I’m not leaving you.”

The man gestured for her to go back in the direction they had come from. She was paraded back as the Grounder kept his hold on Bellamy. “One wrong move and I slit his throat.” He threatened again. Clarke didn’t bother to respond, trudging dutifully back to their camp. She spotted Anya waiting as they broke through the line of trees, and the man shoved her forward before she realized that she’d stopped walking.

“Clarke,” Anya greeted her, each hand on the hilt of a knife tucked into her belt. She turned and walked into a dimly lit room, and Clarke was forced to follow her.

Once inside, her legs were kicked out from under her and she fell to her knees. She heard Bellamy protesting this before he was shoved down beside her. She immediately shuffled closer to him, pressing the lengths of their arms together to both offer and receive comfort. Then, Anya unsheathed one of the blades and advanced on them, eyes locked on Clarke.

“Hey, wait—no!” Bellamy threw himself in front of her, but one of the men grabbed his shoulders and threw him aside. Clarke let out a sob in her terror. “Clarke!” Before he could make it back to her, Anya crouched before her and severed her bonds.

Clarke was then yanked to her feet while Bellamy was held in place. “What do you want from us?” Clarke asked shakily, rubbing her raw wrists.

A Grounder pulled aside a curtain to reveal a young girl laid out on a table struggling to breathe.

“Help her.” Anya said simply before taking a step toward Bellamy and pointing her blade at him. “If she dies, he dies.” Clarke spun to face Bellamy, terror clearly visible in her gaze. “Her name is Tris.”

“I—I can’t do this. I don’t have any equipment.” Clarke stammered frantically.

“We’ll provide you with what we can.” Anya said easily, and a man left to get what little supplies they had.

“Why do you think I can save her?” she asked desperately.

Bellamy looked up at Anya, putting two and two together. “Lincoln must’ve told her.”

“Yes.” She confirmed. “Our healer is gone. There is nothing that we can do for her. For his sake, I hope you can.”

Bellamy smiled weakly for Clarke. “You’ve got this, princess.”

Anya left, and Clarke set to work, analyzing what was causing the girl’s trauma and how to alleviate it. Her attempt to drain the blood from her lungs had gotten both her and Bellamy thrown to the ground when he’d tried to help. Clearly, the Grounders didn’t cut into their own to save them.

They both climbed to their feet and backed against a wall as Anya looked over the girl, seeing that what they had done had helped more than it harmed.

“She’s breathing a little better,” Clarke said quietly, stretching her sleeve over her hand and using it to dab at Bellamy’s head wound. He winced but made no complaint as she came in contact with it. “But even if we can save her… what happens then?”

“Then we find a way to get the hell out of here. We’re not going to die today, princess.” He murmured.

“She’s hot.” Anya called from across the room, her hand on Tris’ forehead.

Clarke went back to work, simultaneously arguing with Anya until she found a needle that could possibly serve its needed purpose. She had Bellamy file down the tip against the floor and then sterilize it, attaching it to a syringe. She got to her feet and approached Anya. “We’re going to need your blood.”

Anya stepped back, and the Grounder angled himself in front of her. “No.”

“You’re from the same tribe. It’s the best match you’re going to get.” She argued.

The girl’s choking got louder and more forceful in the background, and Bellamy came up to her side. “Whatever you’re going to do, it needs to happen now, princess. Just use mine.” He held out his arm to her.

“No, I’m not going to—”

“Clarke.”

She met his eyes for a moment before acquiescing, carefully pressing the needle into a vein and allowing the syringe to fill with his blood. She left the instrument in his hands and turned to Tris, pushing up her sleeve.

“I can’t find a vein,” she said, patting the girl’s arm and trying to make her blood flow. “She’s clamping down, she’s lost too much blood. Come on.”

“Clarke, she’s not breathing.” Bellamy said quietly.

The blonde froze at his words, staring at the young girl’s face in dismay. She had failed. Her gaze then flew to Bellamy, his expression already resigned and determined. She grabbed his arm, eyes filling with fear. “I… we’ll do something, right? We’re not dying today. You’re _not_.” Tears sprung to her eyes.

“You just focus on getting back to camp safely, understand?” he said, gently brushing away the few tears that spilled over.

“No. Bellamy—”

“Take him away and kill him.” Anya said flatly.

“No!” Clarke immediately fought the man who grabbed Bellamy. “No, no, please, no! Please!” she cried, reaching after him as a different man took him and the first restrained her. “No, I did everything I could!” she sobbed, hitting the man and trying to get to Bellamy. “ _Please_ , no!”

“Clarke, stop it. They’ll hurt you.” Bellamy yelled, fighting back against his own captor but visibly caving to the exhaustion resulting from his earlier head wound.

She shook her head violently and continued to fight against the man. “No, get off of me! Bellamy!” she cried, able to do nothing but watch as he was dragged out the door.

\---

Clarke killed her only remaining guard when he removed his armor and then sprinted out of the Grounders’ camp, keeping the scalpel clutched tightly in her fist. Once she figured out what direction she needed to go in, she kept running straight, hoping desperately to pick up Bellamy’s trail on her way.

Almost an hour away from the camp, she hit a trip wire and got pulled up into a hanging trap by her leg. She stifled her instinctive cry and pulled herself up her body, thankful that she was able to keep a hold on the scalpel. She began to saw at the rope holding her up until she finally made it through and dropped several feet onto her back, the fall knocking the air out of her.

Clarke lay silent on the ground for a moment, listening for the sound of anyone following her. When no one came, she slowly got to her feet and carried on, trying to ignore her exhaustion.

After a few more minutes of running, Clarke’s heart turned to lead when she heard a horse whinny startlingly close to her. She ducked into some bushes and looked out, cursing the Grounder that had found her. She peered out of her hiding spot to see that the animal had come into view, its only rider incredibly familiar. Clarke instantly jumped to her feet, and he turned his head to face her.

“Bellamy!” Relief flooded her voice, and she ran the few yards between them.

He let out a deep sigh of relief before a smile spread across his lips. “Princess,” he said affectionately, sliding off the horse and landing solidly on the ground. “I thought I picked up your trail a couple miles back, but I wasn’t—”

Clarke threw her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. She tangled her fingers in his hair and fisted her other hand in the fabric of his shirt, holding onto him as tightly as possible. Slowly, his arms encircled her waist, and then he was holding on as tightly as she was, ducking his head down to her shoulder. They stayed there for several moments, simply taking in the fact that the other was alive.

Clarke finally pulled back, letting a hand fall down his side and hold onto his forearm. He, in turn, left a hand at her waist. “How did you get away? I thought… I thought they killed you.”

“Guess they wanted to take me away to do it.” While he spoke, Clarke inspected the new cut across his cheek. “I fell off the horse and grabbed a rock and fought the Grounder when he tried to get me back on it. I only knocked him out, though. Didn’t kill him.” He absentmindedly brushed his knuckle down her cheek. “How the hell did you manage to get out of their camp, princess?”

“We… We should get back to camp. They could still be following us.” Clarke said shakily. His eyebrows drew together in concern, but he immediately obeyed her. He climbed onto the horse and held his hand out to her, which she took to pull herself up behind him. Once she wrapped her arms around his waist, they set off back toward their camp. “I killed the guard.” Clarke admitted quickly after several minutes passed in silence. “I just killed him and ran.” Her voice trembled as tears threatened to fall.

Bellamy seemed to notice, and he let go of the horse's reins with one hand to cover hers that crossed over his stomach. “Hey, you didn’t have a choice. It’ll be okay, Clarke.”

She sniffed. “When you call me Clarke, it just lets me know that everything is going wrong.”

“I thought you hated ‘princess?’”

“It’s okay when you say it. You’re never mean or insulting with it.” Clarke let her eyes fall closed and she leaned forward against Bellamy’s back, realizing just how exhausted she had become. “I like it when you’re the one calling me that.”

“Noted, princess,” the corners of his mouth twisted upward slightly, and he glanced back to make sure that she was still alright.

“How far do you think we are from camp?” she mumbled, the words slightly muffled in his shirt.

“Not far now. I actually recognize where we are. Maybe another twenty minutes.”

“Good.” Clarke sighed, tightening her hold around him. “Remind me to clean up your injuries when we get back.”

“Same to you,”

“I’m fine—”

“You’re not.” He cut her off gently. “But I’ll look after you, I promise.”

Clarke nodded gratefully, fighting down the tears that threatened to return. “Let’s get home.”

It only took them ten minutes to run into what was apparently a search party out looking for them consisting of Raven, Octavia, and Finn. They had all hidden initially, but upon seeing that it was Clarke and Bellamy atop the horse, they each cried out one of their names and ran to their aid.

They were helped down off of the animal to be escorted the remainder of the short distance back to camp. Raven took the horse’s lead to bring it back with them. Through the walkie-talkie, Finn alerted the others who were out looking for them that they had been found, telling them to head back to camp. He then wrapped an arm around Clarke’s waist to help keep her upright.

“I don’t need your help to walk, Finn,” she grumbled, pulling away from him and swaying slightly before managing to steady herself. She began to walk with him and Raven, sparing a glance for the siblings as they went.

“Are you alright, Bell?” Octavia was frantic, carefully examining his injuries before throwing herself into his arms and letting out a sob.

“Shh, O.” he rubbed her back soothingly, willingly returning the warm embrace. “We’re okay. We’re back. You don’t need to worry, I promise.”

She shook her head, running her fingers through his hair before stepping back only slightly. “I could’ve lost you today. Bell, I wouldn’t be able to _live_ —”

“Hey, don’t talk like that.” He murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “We’re all safe tonight. Let’s just get home.” His little sister nodded slowly, tears streaming uninterrupted down her cheeks even as Bellamy tried to wipe them away. He settled for wrapping a comforting arm around her as they walked, glancing over at Clarke every couple minutes to make sure she was still alright.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity following the night they’d had, the group arrived back at camp. The sentries opened the gate for them, and Raven parted from the group to bring the horse elsewhere. The rest continued on to the drop ship.

Clarke dropped into the chair next to their operating table and motioned for Bellamy to sit on the table. “Octavia, could you get me some of the moonshine? Finn, you can go.” The Blakes did as they were asked, but Finn protested, saying that he wanted to stay with her and help. “I can handle this. Please. I’m just going to sleep right after we’re finished and the fewer people that are here, the better.” She said tiredly. He sighed heavily but complied finally, walking out of the drop ship after glancing back at the blonde. Clarke shook her head and then picked up a small flashlight. “Follow the light, okay?” she instructed Bellamy. “I need to check if you have a concussion.” He did so silently. “Your pupils are responding normally. Do you feel nauseous or dizzy?”

“No, just tired.”

She smiled wearily. “Me, too. Can you check the same for me? Just look to see if my pupils constrict.”

“You’re good.” He determined after a moment. “Lucky for us, huh?”

“Yeah, we’re so lucky for having been captured by Grounders.” She rolled her eyes, taking back the flashlight and returning it to a box.

“Hey, we survived, didn’t we?”

Octavia returned then with a thermos full of Monty’s moonshine and handed it off to Clarke.

“Thanks, Octavia. You can go get some rest.” Clarke said, unscrewing the lid and dousing her hands in the liquid.

“No, I want to stay.” She protested.

“O, we’ll be okay. Get some sleep.” Bellamy said softly.

She stared at him defiantly for a moment before her shoulders slumped down and she caved. “Fine. Feel better, Bell.” She pecked his cheek.

“Do my best,” he said lightly as she left the drop ship.

With her hands now clean, Clarke tipped Bellamy’s head down to more easily access the wounds. She prodded around them gently, checking for bleeding. “I don’t think you need any stitches. I’m just going to clean these for you.”

“Thanks,” he muttered absently, staring at her as she poured some of the alcohol on a cloth and went to work on the lacerations. “What did they do to you after they took me away?”

“They… said that they wanted me to stay with them. As a healer,” she pursed her lips, clearly not wanting to broach the subject of killing the Grounder. “Obviously I couldn’t do it.”

“I’m glad you escaped, Clarke.” She finished off the cut on his cheek and set the rag down beside him.

“Yeah, I know. You need the medic—”

He shook his head immediately, catching her hand. “That’s not—I mean, yeah, that’s true, but you’re important to _me_ as more than that.”

She slowly met his gaze, squeezing the hand that he had entangled with hers. “Let’s get you back to your tent.” She murmured. He got to his feet and they walked out together, Bellamy surprised when Clarke kept their hands together.

They entered his tent, and he immediately fell back onto his bed with a groan. He opened his eyes after a moment to find Clarke smiling down at him. “You planning on staying the night, princess?”

Clarke’s cheeks reddened and she turned, lifting the flap of the tent.

“Because I wouldn’t be opposed to that,” he said quickly, propping himself up on his elbows.

Clarke very slowly faced him again, eyebrows raised. “I’m sure you wouldn’t.”

He rolled his eyes. “I don’t mean anything by it. I just meant sleeping together in the actual sense of _sleeping_.”

“Oh.” Clarke stared down at him for a moment, visibly debating it. “Okay.” She kicked off her shoes and sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling off her shirt and leaving her tank top.

Bellamy threw his boots a few feet away, and his shirt followed it, landing nearby. He then lifted the blanket, making room for Clarke. She smiled at him softly and crawled in beside him, settling into the comforting reprieve after the beyond terrible day that they had endured.

She tentatively shifted and laid her head on his chest. He made no move to protest, instead wrapping an arm around her waist and actually making her feel safe for the first time since she could remember. Clarke moved her hand so that it was covering his on her hip.

“Bellamy?” he looked down at her. “I really glad you’re okay.” She admitted quietly.

His lips quirked up into a smile. “I’m glad you’re okay too.”

“I’m serious. I couldn’t do any of this without you. I need you. You’re the only person that I trust down here.”

“You’re the only one I trust besides Octavia. I need you too, princess. Everyone here does, but I do especially. Do me a favor and don’t go dying on me anytime soon, alright?”

“I wasn’t planning on it.” Her cheeks flushed in response to his words.

He nodded, satisfied. “Get some sleep, Clarke.” He murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

She lifted her free hand to place it on his chest, feeling his muscles tense for a moment before he relaxed again. Both of them quickly drifted off to sleep, pushing away thoughts of their responsibilities and the dangerous threats to their lives just for the night.

When she woke up the following morning, Clarke was warmer and more comfortable than she usually was. She also noticed that she had woken later than she normally did, and after a moment of thought, she realized this was because she had not been startled out of her sleep by a nightmare for the first night in years. She rolled her head to face the boy still asleep at her side, holding her closely to him. She smiled and pressed her lips to his cheek, recognizing this feeling of comfort and care as the feeling of being loved.

**Author's Note:**

> ~All credit to the author of The 100 and producers of the show~


End file.
